


[and through the spaces of the dark]

by ephemerall



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-06
Updated: 2010-06-06
Packaged: 2017-10-09 22:51:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/92459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ephemerall/pseuds/ephemerall
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It isn't the first time he's dreamed of her, and he's torn between wishing it never ends and never wanting to fall asleep again.  She lies there on the bed next to him, face lineless and smooth, and he can't read it; he could always read her face.</p>
            </blockquote>





	[and through the spaces of the dark]

 

The light in the bathroom is dim and sickly yellow; it makes the bruises across Sam’s cheek and jaw stand out with startling clarity, making them look a lot worse than he knows they are.  The pipes clink, and the water spurts brown before it’s clear, and he takes handfuls of water to wash away the grime and blood on his face.  He watches the water swirl down the tiny drain before turning off the water and pushing his hair back away from his face.

 

He stands there, staring at himself for too long; too many years, too many changes on this skin.  He wonders how he got here, why they got here, and if maybe, in some other life, things could have been different.  He thinks too much about all the dead people, mostly the ones they knew, and wonders why it had to be that way; why, if God is there, He couldn’t spare just a few people they loved.

 

He thinks too much about Jessica these days; he convinces himself it’s because it’s the end of the world.  It won’t be long before everything is red skies and fire, brimstone and hell on earth, and he thinks about her – where is she now?  Does she know everything he’s done?  Does she know the person he’s become?  He can’t help but wonder what she would say if she could see him now; can’t help but wonder if she’d still love the thing he’s turned into.

 

He wipes his damp face on a dirty towel, careful not to look at himself again as he turns out the light and opens the door.  Dean is sleeping on the bed closest to the door – the way it’s been for years – and Sam takes his place on the bed by the window.  Outside the moon isn’t even visible through the cloud cover, and the parking lot is almost empty except for Dean’s car and a couple others.  There is a minivan at the end of the lot, and he wonders if Jess ever dreamed of having one, filled up with their kids on the way to soccer practice.

 

He swallows hard against the tightness in his throat and closes his eyes; all he wants right now is to escape all the hurt and guilt, fall into sleep headfirst and let it take him under someplace black and empty.

 

It isn’t the first time he’s dreamed of her, and he’s torn between wishing it never ends and never wanting to fall asleep again.  She lies there on the bed next to him, face lineless and smooth, and he can’t read it; he could always read her face.  He wants to ask her why she’s here, why now, but he can’t find any words, can’t force his throat to open up and let anything out.

 

“Hey, baby,” she says like it’s nothing, like she never burned up, like her blood isn’t still on his hands.

 

When he can finally force something out he says, “I miss you.”

 

She reaches over and smoothes her fingers through his hair, and kisses the corner of his mouth.  “I know,” she says.  He reaches out, then, to touch her, but his hand hovers just short of her skin; he’s terrified that when his fingers touch her skin, it’ll just fade away – she’ll just fade away.  She covers his wrist with her hand and pulls his down to her, letting it rest on the curve of her neck.  Her skin is still so soft.  “It’s ok,” she says, smiling just the way she used to.

 

“God, Jess… You don’t even know,” he says, almost choking on his words, on his breath, on everything.

 

“I do, baby,” she says, rolling onto her side to face him.  She puts her hand on his chest – it doesn’t burn, doesn’t hurt at all, and he never wants her to stop touching him.  “I know it all.  It doesn’t change anything; baby, you’re still you.  People make bad choices – it doesn’t make you a bad person.”

 

That’s when he crumbles.  He hasn’t cried like this since Dean died, and she’s right there, leaning over him and kissing it all away.  She still tastes like strawberry chapstick and something else too sweet for him to name.  She smoothes her fingers over his cheeks, over his shoulders, pushes her fingers through his hair.  She stops kissing him to lean over him, to stare down at him, and it’s everything he’s ever loved looking back at him; it’s all the proof he needs to know this is her – this is really her.

 

“Don’t lose your way, baby,” she says quietly, running her fingers through her hair.  “Everything can be ok again.”

 

He nods and she kisses him, kisses him like she used to when she wanted him to stop what he was doing and take her to bed.  It makes his heart stutter in his chest, makes his breath stop, makes him hold onto her like he’s drowning and she’s the only thing keeping him alive.  She slides over him, body perfect and so real, making him gasp for breath.  He slips his hands down to hold gently onto her hips.

 

“I want to be with you,” he says quietly.  “God, Jess, I want to be with you more than anything.”

 

“We can have this right now,” she says and he doesn’t want to ask questions.  He doesn’t care about the how or the why, he just wants her; if this is the last chance he’ll ever have to be with her – dream or not – he wants it.

 

She nods at him and smiles, and that’s all the invitation he needs to roll them over and settle between her legs; it’s all the invitation he needs to pull the wispy fabric of her nightgown over her head and let it drop to the floor.  He pulls his tee-shirt over his head and lets it fall, too, the only thing left between them are his boxer-briefs.  He wants her so bad his body actually aches for it.  She slides her fingers into the waistband of his shorts and pushes them down as far as her arms will reach, before he takes over and pushes them the rest of the way down and off the end of the bed.

 

He takes his time, looking at her face, touching her skin; he kisses her neck and her chest, presses soft, chaste kisses to her breasts and belly.  For a minute he lets himself fantasize; he lets himself get lost in thoughts of her belly swollen, of the life they could have had.  It’s harder than he thought it would be to push it all down and just be with her in the here and now; he wants so much to wake up and find everything that’s happened was nothing more than a nightmare, but he knows that isn’t how this thing works.

 

When she finally reaches down and touches him, his whole body shakes; he’s missed her touch so much, missed the way she just knows how to do everything with him.  He groans out loud, and she kisses him, chases away all the hurt he’s felt for all these years.

 

“Sam,” she whispers, kissing his neck, pulling at his hips with her soft hands.

 

“I love you,” he says.  “I love you, Jess.  God, I love you so much.”

 

“I know, baby,” she whispers, wrapping a leg around his waist and urging him forward.

 

The first slip of him inside of her feels like the first time he ever touched her all over again; he can feel the electricity up and down his spine, feel the heat in his belly, and his whole body trembles.  She runs her hands down his back, and up again to soothe him before she takes his face in her hands and kisses him.  She moves with him, guides him; she keeps all his pieces from flying apart until he can’t breathe, until everything comes together.

 

He cries out into her neck and she holds onto him tight.  He’s shaking and sweating, and she kisses him softly, soothing him back to sleep with her perfect hands on his skin.

 

He knew she’d be gone when he woke up, but it doesn’t stop it from hurting; it makes the ache in his chest that he’d worked so hard to bury open up deep and raw.  For a moment he thinks if he looked down at his chest it would be torn open with blood everywhere – but he’s in one piece, and he’s not sure if it’s a good thing or not.

 

Dean is still asleep and Sam turns onto his side to put his back to his brother; he brings the pillow next to him close to his face, and breathes her in, knowing whatever this was… this was it.  He knew in that moment whatever thin veil had allowed her back to him for those precious moments had been pulled closed, and he’d never see her again. He’d carry her memory around like a ghost, spending whatever life he had wishing he could go back and change it.


End file.
